


4:37

by ReticentObsessive



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, John has the patience of a saint, Post-Case, Pre-Slash, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReticentObsessive/pseuds/ReticentObsessive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has the patience of a saint, but Sherlock can be particularly trying. Especially when John is trying to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4:37

Dr John Watson is, according to practically everyone he's ever met, a reasonable, fair-minded sort of bloke. However, after a practically sleepless 36 hours -save a few minutes snatched in taxis and police stations- chasing his deranged flatmate around London, his nerves are understandably a little on edge. Eyeing the clock, he can't help but be aware of how his alarm's shrill call is looming to rouse him for a shift at the surgery. He would dearly love to make full use of the couple of hours he has left. He would too, if it weren't for his selfish arse of a flatmate, who has decided that 4:37 is a perfectly reasonable hour to set about torturing his poor violin.

After four minutes of listening to what could not, even in his most charitable of moods, be called music, John summons the energy to haul himself out of bed and down the stairs. Once he reaches the bottom step, he looks into the living room and sees Sherlock sprawled in his chair, frowning deeply, as he draws his bow jaggedly across the violin sitting in his lap. He appears not to notice John's approach or at least he doesn't react to it. 

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! Do you have any idea what time it is?" John's voice rasps, too exhausted to put as much bite in the words as he'd like.

Sherlock stills. He glances at the window then surveys his flatmate carefully, if quickly. John waits a moment, but Sherlock says nothing. Mercifully though, he has stopped bowing. It's enough.

"Thank you. Now, I'm going back to bed to try and get some shut eye. I can't afford to fall asleep at work, again!" He turns and makes his way back up the stairs to his bed.

Just as he's settled, trying to find sleep after his most unwelcome trip downstairs, John seriously contemplates murder. With a groan, he is just about to fling back his covers before he realises what he is hearing. It's not the strangling of cats he'd immediately feared. It's ... Well... John has no idea what it is, he's no good with composers and naming classical pieces, but it's lovely. He relaxes back into his pillow, calmed by the gentle notes floating up the stairs, and sleep claims him quickly.

*******

Bleary-eyed, John turns off his alarm and sets about getting ready for work. Once he has washed and dressed, he makes his way towards the kitchen, noting the lack of Sherlock anywhere in view. His bedroom door's closed - finally sleeping then.

After his tea and toast, John heads towards the door and out to work. The fresh air does wonders, making him feel a bit more human and awake. He worries sometimes that his erratic sleeping patterns probably don't have the best effect on his work performance - a sleep-deprived doctor? Bit not good. Then again, he's a soldier. He's used to running empty. It's all moot anyway. There's no way on earth he could possibly give up moonlighting as assistant and blogger to the world's only consulting detective. If it ever came down to a choice, he'd choose Sherlock every time and he knows it! He remembers those dismal dull months in London when he was first back all too well. He thinks back to the evening before, the thrill he felt running after the fleeing culprits and the post-case euphoria, giggles at crime scenes and the companionable post-case, pre-bed cup of tea and snack, finally able to cajole Sherlock into consuming a few much needed calories before exhaustion claimed them.

It's at this point that two things finally hit him. Firstly, Sherlock was still awake at 4:37, even though they'd made it home a few hours before with the case neatly solved. That made no sense. Sherlock usually slept like the dead for at least 12 hours after a case - unless another came along. Secondly, Sherlock Holmes, self-proclaimed sociopath, had played him a lullaby.


End file.
